Attenuation
by Remi G. Craeg
Summary: Jack couldn't give her what she needed because he needed it, too. S/J friendship. Rated T for a bad word or two.


**Attenuation  
**by Remi Craeg

"Can I talk to you?" Sam asked, jogging to catch him near the elevator.

"Not now, Carter."

He'd already turned his shoulder against her but she wasn't ready to let him go. "Sir, wait. _Please_."

Jack glanced backwards, wishing he hadn't, and shoved his hands into his pockets. There were about a thousand other places that he'd rather be right now, and none of them included her watching him so expectantly out in the middle of an SGC corridor.

He knew what she was going to say.

"It's about Daniel."

"I _really_ can't do this now, Carter." He looked away because he couldn't stand the expression that hijacked her face. Disappointment.

"Sir, why—"

"Carter!" he snapped. He wouldn't let her finish that sentence. He couldn't hear the words he refused to think. "Jesus, what do you want me to do?" he demanded in short, clipped bursts. He knew it hit her with the force of a bulldozer.

Her eyes left his, a sadness tugged at her shoulders, and a sigh came from her lips. He waited silently for her to say something. He expected—_needed_—her to snap right back, but nothing came. She wouldn't look at him either. His stomach twisted; he'd crossed the line. Here she was looking to him for support and he'd slapped her with his forced indifference. After all, if he ignored it long enough, it'd just go away, right?

Jack couldn't give her what she needed because he needed it, too.

Sam shook her head and walked away, back down the corridor from which she came. He cursed himself for being such a coward, for denying himself—and her—the blessed comfort of a friend.

This thing with Daniel was more than he could handle. Couldn't she see that?

*

Jack found her in her lab with most of the lights off. All but a desk lamp. Her back stiffened when he entered, but he waved her off. For a moment he just stood at the end of her bench silently. "Got a minute?" He kept his tone light, hoping to absolve himself of his earlier indiscretion. She didn't look back up.

"I'm actually in the mid—"

"I'm sorry," he apologized quickly, before she kicked him out. Her eyes darted up to him and he thought it was quite possibly the saddest expression she owned. Her eyebrows drawn tight, her lips pinched thin. She looked like she was barely holding on.

"I'm an ass," he added for good measure.

"Yes, sir," she agreed, a smile gloriously peaking around the edges of her lips.

A rush of relief spread through him. He'd come to the frightening realization that Daniel doing his glowy thing he could _maybe_ learn to cope with, but there was no way he could live with losing Carter because he was a total jack-ass.

She nodded to the extra chair at her workbench. Jack took it with a grateful smile. "Whatcha workin on? That a flux capacitor?" he asked, lacking an appropriate segue.

She smothered a chuckle, but gave him an indulgent smile, "Not exactly, it's actually the—"

Jack held up a hand causing her to stall. On second thought…

"That's okay." He paused, his expression grew serious, "About earlier."

Guess he wasn't done apologizing.

"It's…okay. I understand, things have been difficult lately."

"I'm not really making things easier and I'm…sorry about that."

She had no reply and he was suddenly struck by a bolt of guilt. The past week had been a clusterfuck of massive proportions and he'd left her alone to deal with the fallout.

Sam looked up, her face carrying all the things she wanted to say right there on the surface. He silently implored her to hold back. If she let go, then he'd have to follow. "Sir," she started, glancing down at her hands. For a moment she didn't speak, she looked unsure. Then, a whisper, "I miss him." She shook her head and tears fell out of her eyes.

The confession was soft, but it stole the air from his lungs. Which was ridiculous, his surprise, because he'd been trying to avoid the same reality for a week. What was he supposed to do now? The words were spoken and she sat there in front of him doing her best to resist the overwhelming urge to sob.

"Sam," he said because he was concerned. He'd never seen her fall apart so easily. It all made his stomach hurt.

He was startled to suddenly find the last of his reserves spent. There was no way he could sit here, stone-cold and detached, as Sam Carter cried, her face crumpled with grief. So he exhaled and caved, "C'mere."

She looked up at him strangely, like she forgot he was there, but lowered her cheek to his chest when he approached her.

For Jack, the hardest part had always been restraint.

He pulled her closer and she melted into him without hesitation, arms wrapped tightly around his waist, nose buried in his shirt. She muttered something he didn't understand.

"Things won't always be like this," he said, but couldn't say how they might be instead.

*

An hour later, as he walked her up to her front door, Jack told her it would be okay. Daniel was gone, but he'd be back.

He always came back.


End file.
